“No, it was far from easy, but it was necessary,” she said. “And if I hadn’t left, I wouldn’t have Isa, Des, or Wonderland.”
He tagged along with her shift in conversation. “And that would be a real shame, because your bar is the shit.”
That earned him a surprised laugh. “Thank you?”
“Just sharing the truth.”
He kept the conversation light until they turned off Tropicana and drove along the curved turnout to the gate guarding the neighborhood. As Grayson slowed to a stop next to the brick facade of the guardhouse, a man stepped out.
Grayson powered down his window and heard Cass undo her seat belt. Placing a hand on his thigh for balance, she leaned over. “Hi, Luca.”
The guard bent down to see inside, and his expression went from blank to warm. “Good morning, Ms. Alcmene.”
“Cass,” she corrected with a familiar ease. “How’s the family?”
“Good.” He put his hand on the roof of the car. “Amelia’s starting kindergarten this year.”
“I bet Caro’s happy to get some alone time.”
He shook his head, and wry amusement filled his face. “She switches between happy and sad, depending on the day.”
“It’s hard to watch little ones grow up. Tell them both hi from me and give Amelia a big hug.”
“Will do. I’m so sorry to hear about your grandmother,” he said, his tone softening.
Cass’s smile dimmed, and the hand on Grayson’s thigh tightened, but her warm tone didn’t waver. “Thank you, Luca. I appreciate it.”
“Share my condolences with your parents, please.” When she nodded, Luca swept his gaze over Grayson, gave the roof a pat, then stepped back. “You take care of yourself, Cass.”
“You too,” she said.
As Luca disappeared inside the guardhouse, she sat back. Grayson powered up the window as the warmth of her touch faded. Once the gate opened, he pulled through and followed the GPS directions along the tree-lined streets. He’d been here once before for a job, one that involved a wealthy client who had pissed off the wrong woman and, by extension, had earned the guy a very nasty curse. It wasn’t officially recorded anywhere, since his services could be obtained discreetly for the right price. And that price was pretty steep for a man who didn’t want the reasons behind his inability to sexually perform made public, especially to his wife.
With each passing moment, he could feel the tension emanating from the woman sitting next to him. Her hands were knotted together in her lap, her gaze focused straight ahead, and her breathing modulated. If he hadn’t been clued in that things were rough with her family, this mental and emotional donning of armor would have been a clear indication that whatever lay in wait would not be good.
He hit the southern edge of the private neighborhood and followed the quiet street lined with massive homes set back from the road. A row of old-growth trees partially obscured the cement block fence that kept the busy road on the other side. As Grayson came to the final T, Cass directed him to the third house on the left, a white two-story Spanish-inspired home with pale-beige roof tiles, sitting among towering palm trees. The house wasn’t as grand as some of the others, but it was impressive. The architecture hinted at its age, but the modern color scheme of startling white accented with the black glass garage doors and the dark privacy tint on the arched windows made it clear that recent renovations had been undertaken. Unlike its neighbors, there were no gates keeping the curious back from the home’s meticulously landscaped front yard. Instead, a half-moon driveway bypassed the multicar garage, where a silver-gray sedan was parked. Grayson turned in, pulled the car through the porte-cochere—leaving it clear for other visitors—and parked near the end of the drive.
He shut the car down, and they sat in the heavy quiet for a few moments. As he wasn’t in a rush, he was more than willing to give Cass whatever time she needed. He checked the rearview mirror, but there was no movement from the house.
Cass blew out a long breath and undid her seat belt. “All right, let’s get this over with.”
He met her out on the drive, and together, they walked across the polished concrete to the heavy glass front door set in an iron frame. He stayed at her back when she rang the bell. The tint on the glass was dark enough to obscure details, but it wasn’t long before a shift of shadows preceded the door opening to reveal a slender young woman in tailored linen slacks and a fitted dress shirt.
“Cass.” She stood in the doorway, one hand on the door, the other on the frame, as her gaze swept over them. “You’re here.”
He wasn’t sure if her words held accusation or relief. When Cass replied with a quiet “Hi, Sofia,” and the young woman stepped out of the door and pulled Cass into her arms, Grayson settled on relief. He waited as the two women held each other and wasn’t surprised when Cass was the first to draw back.
“You doing okay?” She tucked a strand of Sofia’s gold-streaked light-brown hair back from a wan face that carried hints of shared traits. The mutual loss was there in the bruised circles under her eyes and fine lines bracketing her pale lips.
Sofia’s shrug was jerky, her brown eyes bright with unshed tears. “Do I have a choice?”
Before Cass could answer, a woman’s voice sounded from inside. “Sofia, who’s at the door?”
Cass’s body went wired, her hand falling to her side and curling into a fist.
Sofia took a step back from Cass then twisted to look back through the door. “It’s Cassandra, Mother, and—” When she turned back to them, her earlier softness was gone, hidden behind a composed mask as her gaze landed on him, her perfectly arched eyebrows rising in question.
“Grayson,” he supplied.
